HD 'Parched'
by tigersilver
Summary: AU; EWE. This is the moment after Voldemort dies, and all Harry can think of is how very thirsty he is. This is dedicated with great love and sorrow to the memory of Renee M Romero, LJ's easilymused1956, who was my friend.


**Fandom: HP****  
****Pairing: H/D****  
****Rating: R****  
****WC: 680+/-****  
****This is a **_**Lightning-Write**_**! Ten minutes, tops, with edits! Oh, yeah! I love these. ****  
****This is moment (AU, EWE, naturally) right after Voldemort bites the dust. So does Harry, but not literally. ****  
****This is, with all of my love, dedicated to Renee M. Romero, ****aka LJ's easilymused1956****, who has passed away beyond the reach of my words. You'll pardon me-I just discovered this-but I am crying my eyes out right now and for good reason. She is, was and will always be a most lovely soul. I hope and pray we'll meet again in some other time and place. I'll miss you so, darling. ****  
****Tiger****  
**

HD 'Parched'

When the battle ended, Harry fell forward and licked Draco's cheek. He was parched for the taste of it, though it had only been hours.

Draco blinked at him, and came slowly alive under his tongue, lashes trembling, skin warming again after the chill of shock had worn off. Harry licked every bit of skin he could without moving his neck too much; his spine pained him, as did most of his person. He was injured, obviously, but it couldn't be too badly, because his taste buds still worked.

Draco tasted of salt tracks and somebody's blood and the scent he often wore. _Cologne_, he called it, and Harry, who'd never bothered with artificial enhancement, only ever grimaced at him and murmured that he didn't need it. He was fit enough already, and Harry didn't like it at all when fellows followed him about, and Remus sniffed after him when he left the kitchen table at Grimmauld. Ticked Harry right off, Draco's cologne-wearing tendency, and he didn't need that. Draco had only laughed and kept right on donning the stuff after every bath. It tasted sour now, mixed with dirt from the fallen stones and smoke from the fires. Harry adored the scent of it; had always. The taste now was of ambrosia.

Harry licked across Draco's mouth and that stirred beneath him; began that slow bunch-and-thrust movement that always drugged him into lingering, even when he had to go. Didn't have to go, now. Could take all the time in the world to quench his thirst.

Had a thirst the size of the Squid; if Draco's essence had been the lake which housed it, Harry knew he'd manage to drink down all of it and crave more. Wanted Draco's saliva and Draco's tears and Draco's cum and—

"Ha—" Draco's voice wasn't quite all there yet, but Harry's ears were thirsty, as much as his mouth and all the rest of him. His eyes, which ran over all of Draco he could see without shifting too much, searching for holes and gaps and burns and scars. Broken bits that he could fix up if he had to, because his own skin was singing with power—so much so that it was dry and hot. He felt superannuated with all this power; dried out, as if it were a hot, dry wind that would pick him up and blow him away. He needed Draco to fill him up again; quench that fevered, parched feeling. Fill him up, so he wouldn't just shift into being a ghost, like Sirius.

"Harr—" More of a sound now, and Harry listened carefully for any frightening whistles of air through punctured lungs; any wounds that Draco—the brave fool—was concealing. Harry, not hearing anything to constrict his own heart, licked Draco's hair.

Hair tasted of vanilla, cinnamon and soap. Was slippery, like pasta or silk threads from one of Draco's jumpers. Neck tasted sour and sweet. Dusty again and especially pungent behind the earlobes. He almost laughed over the idea of Draco Malfoy having something as common as earwax, but laughing hurt his chest, so he figured he shouldn't do that just yet. Besides, he was still thirsty and there was a lot of Draco to cover yet.

He moved on to Draco's collarbone, ear pressed snug to a pale chest. Alright there; everything sounded as if it were in the proper place, doing the proper job, and now he could move a little more easily himself, simply because he was trying it. Nipples were salty-musky-sweet. Harry bit a little harder than he should've, perhaps, and Draco jerked and yanked Harry's head up by the scruff of his aching neck.

"Harry, you perv!" was the first thing Malfoy said to him, after the fall of Voldemort. To Harry's parched ears, it was manna from heaven. But then he stopped worrying about his incredible thirst, and how arid and light he was, because Draco—warm, living Draco—was filling up his dry-as-dust mouth with tongue and spit, and it was more than alright.


End file.
